The Punishment of Dolores Jane Umbridge
by peace and joyce
Summary: Vengeance is sweet. Umbridge gets her comeuppance!


**A.N. Thanks to celebi4ever for the inspirational words;" This is not enough. I say we Avada Kedavra her!"**

Outside of the door to the dining room of Malfoy Manor, Dolores Jane Umbridge shifted in her seat. It was not every day that a Dark Lord requested to see you; and she was anxious to look her best. In the pink (literally) she stood out of the misty morose majesty of the dark hallway. (You try saying that fifty times very very fast.)

She looked up at the house elf heads on the wall. How charming! She thought. Perhaps she should do that with her cats. Oh no, she thought again, she could never do that to Mr Schwubbles. _That _would just be _barbaric_.

Peter Pettigrew came out of a side door and Umbridge nodded in approval. So, even Dark Lords had secretaries these days. How appropriate. Clearly this household was at its zenith of social and moral responsibility.

Shuffling silently through the ancient sea of carpets, Pettigrew made his way over to the seated woman and she rose to address him. If Umbridge was short, then he was even shorter, being forced to speak to her on tip toes. Leaning forward, eyes bulging, he breathed in the sickly scent of her perfume. Then, eyes watering, he ever so discreetly- gagged, retched and spluttered.

"The Dark Lord will see you now," he gasped and forced his way back through the side door, no doubt to recover from the intense trauma of making eye contact with her.

Ignoring the hyperventilating Pettigrew, Umbridge straightened her skirt and smoothed it down. She tapped the door neatly (even the wood polish was disgusted by her touch) and entered the room.

The moment she entered, she saw that she had made a potentially fatal fashion choice. Voldemort, his pale body in robes so black the contrast made him look like a crossword puzzle, did not look pleased to see something so- so _pink_. However, his tones were courteous, and Umbridge allowed herself to breathe. Much to the disappointment of the Harry Potter Fandom.

"Do take a seat, Miss Umbridge" welcomed the Dark Lord, hinting at a hiss. He gestured at the seat at the opposite end of the dining table, and Umbridge felt compelled to take it.

"I have a matter of most importance to discuss with you, Miss Umbridge."

_"Do you?" _replied Umbridge, sounding just a little too patronizing.

"Do not jest with the Dark Lord, Dolores. Indeed, it is crucial- to you."

"To me?"

"Yes, idiot woman, to you. Now, I hope- for your own sake- that you remember the murder- or should I say _retirement _of a Mr. Rufus Scrimgeour?"

Umbridge let loose (like a Pandora's box unleashing listless horrors upon the world) a simpering, girlish laugh that made Lord Voldemort's long nails (note to evil self: get Pettigrew to do French manicure) dig into the wood of the table, and he felt a sudden urge to make another Horcrux- starting with _her_.

"Indeed, my lord, I do! For I was one of the group of Death Eaters that saw to his- _retirement_."

"And that is what concerns me, Miss Umbridge."

Her fingers began to tingle.

"I-I don't know what you mean, My Lord."

"I mean your obvious disloyalty. You are an opportunist, Miss Umbridge. You were as devoted as a lap dog to Cornelius Fudge, and then you were most useful to me, despite your incompetence that led to Potter escaping you. But, once Fudge was disgraced, you didn't so much as blink an eye. You turned back on him and served a new master- Scrimgeour, instead.

"Never mind that you stopped being useful and made yourself an enemy to me. Never mind that you neglected my interests within the Ministry. What worries me most, Dolores, is the ease with which you disposed of your second master. Woman, you even volunteered to be part of the party to destroy him, in hope of gaining my favour. Which of course, I gave."

Umbridge whitened and looked desperately at the door. Lord Voldemort answered her thoughts.

"It is locked."

There was no getting out of it now.

"I need Death Eaters that I can trust, Dolores- even if only through fear and blackmail. But you are as trustworthy as Pettigrew is intelligent. Unfortunately for you, he has all the brains of this table."

Umbridge lost all the colour she had been retaining and was now quivering with fear.

"But- but my Lord, I have been helpful since. The Muggle born Commission has been most successful."

"True." Voldemort dismissed. "But I have plenty of idle Death Eaters to spare who could run the Commission as efficiently. Loyalty is not the only reason."

Inwardly, Umbridge groaned. Where was this going?

"Your attitude to wizarding blood. The quills must go. I cannot condone them. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste- unless, of course it is done by me and my inner circle, in which case it is perfectly acceptable.

"And then there is a personal level. I hate you. Everybody hates you. You lack bad ass. And if there is one aspect of my reputation in the Potter fandom that I must protect, it is epic badassness. You are like, so totally cramping my style."

Umbridge felt faint.

"Your obsession with pink causes unrest among the Death Eaters, where black is the preferred colour, black is even better and all black the height of cool. And girl, in this camp, we accept our evilness."

"This is a bad dream" thought Umbridge." This can't happen. It could never happen."

Empty words.

"You have outlived your usefulness, Dolores. It is no regret of mine that I must do this."

And then he said the two words that were music to the ears of a delighted fandom.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The spell hurtled at Umbridge and she collapsed in her chair, with a dismal croak.

THE END

**LET THE REJOICING COMMENCE!**


End file.
